a faint; but he replied at once, and in such tones as I have
never heard elsewhere, save from a delirious patient, ad-
jured and besought us not to desert him. It was the
most hideous and abject performance that my imagina-
tion can conceive.
' ' Enough, " cried Northmour ; and then he threw open
the window, leaned out into the night, and in a tone of
exultation, and with a total forgetfulness of what was
due to the presence of a lady, poured out upon the am-
bassador a string of the most abominable raillery both
in English and Italian, and bade him be gone where he
had come from. I believe that nothing so delighted
Northmour at that moment as the thought that we must
all infallibly perish before the night was out.
Meantime the Italian put his flag of truce into his
pocket, and disappeared, at a leisurely pace, among the
sand-hills.
"They make honourable war," said Northmour.
"They are all gentlemen and soldiers. For the credit
of the thing, I wish we could change sides you and I,
371
NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS
Frank, and you too, Missy my darling and leave that
being on the bed to some one else. Tut! Don't look
shocked ! We are all going post to what they call eter-
nity, and may as well be above-board while there's time.
As far as I'm concerned, if I could first strangle Huddle-
stone and then get Clara in my arms, I could die with
some pride and satisfaction. And as it is, by God, I'll
have a kiss!"
Before I could do anything to interfere, he had rudely
embraced and repeatedly kissed the resisting girl. Next
moment I had pulled him away with fury, and flung
him heavily against the wall. He laughed loud and
long, and I feared his wits had given way under the
strain ; for even in the best of days he had been a sparing
and a quiet laughei.
"Now, Frank," said he, when his mirth had some-
what appeased, "it's your turn. Here's my hand.
Good-bye; farewell!" Then, seeing me stand rigid
and indignant, and holding Clara to my side " Man! "
he broke out, "are you angry ? Did you think we were
going to die with all the airs and graces of society ? I
took a kiss; I'm glad I had it; and now you can take
another if you like, and square accounts."
I turned from him with a feeling of contempt which
I did not seek to dissemble.
"As you please," said he. "You've been a prig in
life; a prig you'll die."
And with that he sat down in a chair, a rifle over the
knee, and amused himself with snapping the lock; but
I could see that his ebullition of light spirits (the only
one I ever knew him to display) had already come to
an end, and was succeeded by a sullen, scowling humour.
272
THE PAVILION ON THE LINKS
All this time our assailants might have been entering
the house, and we been none the wiser; we had in truth
almost forgotten the danger that so imminently over-
hung our days. But just then Mr. Huddlestone uttered
a cry, and leaped from the bed.
I asked him what was wrong.
"Fire!" he cried. "They have set the house on
fire!"
Northmour was on his feet in an instant, and he and
I ran through the door of communication with the study.
The room was illuminated by a red and angry light.
Almost at the moment of our entrance, a tower of flame
arose in front of the window, and, with a tingling re-
port, a pane fell inwards on the carpet. They had set
fire to the lean-to out-house, where Northmour used to
nurse his negatives.
" Hot work," said Northmour. "Let us try in your
old room."
We ran thither in a breath, threw up the casement,
and looked forth. Along the whole back wall of the
pavilion piles of fuel had been arranged and kindled;
and it is probable they had been drenched with mineral
oil, for, in spite of the morning's rain, they all burned
bravely. The fire had taken a firm hold already on the
out-house, which blazed higher and higher every mo-
ment; the back door was in the centre of a red-hot bon-
fire; the eaves we could see, as we looked upward,
were already smouldering, for the roof overhung, and
was supported by considerable beams of wood. At the
same time, hot, pungent, and choking volumes of
smoke began to fill the house. There was not a human
being to be seen to right or left.
273
NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS
" Ah, well! " said Northmour, " here's the end, thank
God."
And we returned to My Uncle's Room. Mr. Huddle-
stone was putting on his boots, still violently trembling,
but with an air of determination such as I had not hith-
erto observed. Clara stood close by him, with her cloak
in both hands ready to throw about her shoulders, and
a strange look in her eyes, as if she were half hopeful,
half doubtful of her father.
"Well, boys and girls," said Northmour, " how about
a sally ? The oven is heating; it is not good to stay here
and be baked ; and, for my part, I want to come to my
hands with them and be done."
"There is nothing else left," I replied.
And both Clara and Mr. Huddlestone, though with a
very different intonation, added, "Nothing."
As we went downstairs the heat was excessive, and
the roaring of the fire filled our ears ; and we had scarce
reached the passage before the stairs window fell in, a
branch of flame shot brandishing through the aperture,
and the interior of the pavilion became lit up with that
dreadful and fluctuating glare. At the same moment
we heard the fall of something heavy and inelastic in the
upper story. The whole pavilion, it was plain, had
gone alight like a box of matches, and now not only
flamed sky-high to land and sea, but threatened with
every moment to crumble and fall in about our ears.
Northmour and I cocked our revolvers. Mr. Huddle-
stone, who had already refused a firearm, put us behind
him with a manner of command.
" Let Clara open the door," said he. "So, if they fire
a volley, she will be protected. And in the meantime
274
THE PAVILION ON THE LINKS
stand behind me. I am the scapegoat; my sins have
found me out."
I heard him, as I stood breathless by his shoulder,
with my pistol ready, pattering off prayers in a tremu-
lous, rapid whisper; and I confess, horrid as the thought
may seem, I despised him for thinking of supplications
in a moment so critical and thrilling. In the meantime,
Clara, who was dead white, but still possessed her fac-
ulties, had displaced the barricade from the front door.
Another moment, and she had pulled it open. Firelight
and moonlight illuminated the links with confused and
changeful lustre, and far away against the sky we could
see a long trail of glowing smoke.
Mr. Huddlestone, filled for the moment with a strength
greater than his own, struck Northmour and myself a
back-hander in the chest; and while we were thus for
the moment incapacitated from action, lifting his arms
above his head like one about to dive, he ran straight
forward out of the pavilion.
"Here am I!" he cried "Huddlestone! Kill me,
and spare the others! "
His sudden appearance daunted, I suppose, our hidden
enemies; for Northmour and I had time to recover, to
seize Clara between us, one by each arm, and to rush
forth to his assistance, ere anything further had taken
place. But scarce had we passed the threshold when
there came near a dozen reports and flashes from every
direction among the hollows of the links. Mr. Huddle-
stone staggered, uttered a weird and freezing cry, threw
up his arms over his head, and fell backward on the turf.
"Traditore! Traditore!" cried the invisible avengers.
And just then, a part of the roof of the pavilion fell in,
275
NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS
so rapid was the progress of the fire. A loud, vague,
and horrible noise accompanied the collapse, and a vast
volume of flame went soaring up to heaven. It must
have been visible at that moment from twenty miles out
at sea, from the shore at Graden Wester, and far inland
from the peak of Graystiel, the most eastern summit of
the Caulder Hills. Bernard Huddlestone, although God
knows what were his obsequies, had a fine pyre at the
moment of his death.
276
CHAPTER IX
TELLS HOW NORTHMOUR CARRIED OUT HIS THREAT
I SHOULD have the greatest difficulty to tell you what
followed next after this tragic circumstance. It is all to
me, as I look back upon it, mixed, strenuous, and in-
effectual, like the struggles of a sleeper in a nightmare.
Clara, I remember, uttered a broken sigh and would
have fallen forward to earth, had not Northmour and I
supported her insensible body. I do not think we were
attacked; I do not remember even to have seen an
assailant; and I believe we deserted Mr. Huddlestone
without a glance. I only remember running like a man
in a panic, now carrying Clara altogether in my own
arms, now sharing her weight with Northmour, now
scuffling confusedly for the possession of that dear
burden. Why we should have made for my camp in
the Hemlock Den, or how we reached it, are points lost
for ever to my recollection. The first moment at which
I became definitely sure, Clara had been suffered to fall
against the outside of my little tent, Northmour and I
were tumbling together on the ground, and he, with con-
tained ferocity, was striking for my head with the butt of
his revolver. He had already twice wounded me on the
scalp; and it is to the consequent loss of blood that I am
tempted to attribute the sudden clearness of my mind.
277
NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS
I caught him by the wrist.
"Northmour," I remember saying, "you can kill me
afterwards. Let us first attend to Clara."
He was at that moment uppermost. Scarcely had the
words passed my lips, when he had leaped to his feet
and ran towards the tent; and the next moment, he was
straining Clara to his heart and covering her unconscious
hands and face with his caresses.
"Shame!" I cried. "Shame to you, Northmour!"
And, giddy though I still was, I struck him repeat-
edly upon the head and shoulders.
He relinquished his grasp, and faced me in the broken
moonlight.
"I had you under, and let you go," said he; "and
now you strike me! Coward! "
"You are the coward," I retorted. "Did she wish
your kisses while she was still sensible of what she
wanted ? Not she! And now she may be dying; and
you waste this precious time, and abuse her helpless-
ness. Stand aside, and let me help her."
He confronted me for a moment, white and menac-
ing ; then suddenly he stepped aside.
"Help her then," said he.
I threw myself on my knees beside her, and loosened,
as well as I was able, her dress and corset; but while I
was thus engaged, a grasp descended on my shoulder.
" Keep your hands off her," said Northmour fiercely.
"Do you think I have no blood in my veins ? "
"Northmour," I cried, "if you will neither help her
yourself, nor let me do so, do you know that I shall have
to kill you ?"
"That is better!" he cried. "Let her die also,
278
THE PAVILION ON THE LINKS
where's the harm? Step aside from that girl! and
stand up to fight."
"You will observe," said I, half-rising, "that I have
not kissed her yet."
" I dare you to," he cried.
I do not know what possessed me ; it was one of the
things I am most ashamed of in my life, though, as my
wife used to say, I knew that my kisses would be always
welcome were she dead or living; down I fell again upon
my knees, parted the hair from her forehead, and, with
the dearest respect, laid my lips for a moment on that
cold brow. It was such a caress as a father might have
given ; it was such a one as was not unbecoming from
a man soon to die to a woman already dead.
"And now," said I, "I am at your service, Mr.
Northmour."
But I saw, to my surprise, that he had turned his back
upon me.
" Do you hear ?" I asked.
"Yes," said he, "I do. If you wish to fight, I am
ready. If not, go on and save Clara. All is one to me."
I did not wait to be twice bidden ; but, stooping again
over Clara, continued my efforts to revive her. She
still lay white and lifeless ; I began to fear that her sweet
spirit had indeed fled beyond recall, and horror and a
sense of utter desolation seized upon my heart. I called
her by name with the most endearing inflections; I
chafed and beat her hands; now I laid her head low,
now supported it against my knee ; but all seemed to
be in vain, and the lids still lay heavy on her eyes.
"Northmour," I said, " there is my hat. For God's
sake bring some water from the spring."
279
NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS
Almost in a moment he was by my side with the
water.
" I have brought it in my own," he said. " You do
not grudge me the privilege ? "
"Northmour," I was beginning to say, as I laved her
head and breast; but he interrupted me savagely.
"Oh, you hush up! " he said. "The best thing you
can do is to say nothing."
I had certainly no desire to talk, my mind being swal-
lowed up in concern for my dear love and her condi-
tion; so I continued in silence to do my best towards
her recovery, and, when the hat was empty, returned it
to him, with one word "More." He had, perhaps,
gone several times upon this errand, when Clara re-
opened her eyes.
"Now," said he, "since she is better, you can spare
me, can you not ? I wish you a good night, Mr. Cas-
silis."
And with that he was gone among the thicket. I
made a fire, for I had now no fear of the Italians, who
had even spared all the little possessions left in my en-
campment; and, broken as she was by the excitement
and the hideous catastrophe of the evening, I managed,
in one way or another by persuasion, encouragement,
warmth, and such simple remedies as I could lay my
hand on to bring her back to some composure of
mind and strength of body.
Day had already come, when a sharp "Hist ! " sounded
from the thicket. I started from the ground; but the
voice of Northmour was heard adding, in the most tran-
quil tones: "Come here, Cassilis, and alone; I want to
show you something."
280
THE PAVILION ON THE LINKS
I consulted Clara with my eyes, and, receiving her
tacit permission, left her alone, and clambered out of the
den. At some distance off I saw Northmour leaning
against an elder; and, as soon as he perceived me, he
began walking seaward. I had almost overtaken him
as he reached the outskirts of the wood.
"Look," said he, pausing.
A couple of steps more brought me out of the foliage.
The light of the morning lay cold and clear over that
well-known scene. The pavilion was but a blackened
wreck; the roof had fallen in, one of the gables had fallen
out; and, far and near, the face of the links was cica-
trised with little patches of burnt furze. Thick smoke
still went straight upwards in the windless air of the
morning, and a great pile of ardent cinders filled the bare
walls of the house, like coals in an open grate. Close
by the islet a schooner yacht lay to, and a well-manned
boat was pulling vigorously for the shore.
" The Red Earl! " I cried. "The Red Earl twelve
hours too late!"
" Feel in your pocket, Frank. Are you armed ? " asked
Northmour.
I obeyed him, and I think I must have become deadly
pale. My revolver had been taken from me.
"You see I have you in my power," he continued.
"I disarmed you last night while you were nursing
Clara; but this morning here take your pistol. No
thanks! " he cried, holding up his hand. " I do not like
them; that is the only way you can annoy me now."
He began to walk forward across the links to meet the
boat, and I followed a step or two behind. In front of
the pavilion I paused to see where Mr. Huddlestone had
381
NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS
fallen ; but there was no sign of him, nor so much as a
trace of blood.
"Graden Floe," said Northmour.
He continued to advance till we had come to the head
of the beach.
"No farther, please," said he. "Would you like to
take her to Graden House ?"
"Thank you," replied I ; " I shall try to get her to the
minister's at Graden Wester."
The prow of the boat here grated on the beach, and a
sailor jumped ashore with a line in his hand.
"Wait a minute, lads!" cried Northmour; and then
lower and to my private ear: "You had better say no-
thing of all this to her," he added.
"On the contrary!" I broke out, "she shall know
everything that I can tell."
"You do not understand," he returned, with an air
of great dignity. "It will be nothing to her; she ex-
pects it of me. Good-bye ! " he added, with a nod.
I offered him my hand.
"Excuse me," said he. "It's small, I know; but I
can't push things quite so far as that. I don't wish
any sentimental business, to sit by your hearth a white-
haired wanderer, and all that. Quite the contrary : I hope
to God I shall never again clap eyes on either one of you."
"Well, God bless you, Northmour! " I said heartily.
"Oh, yes," he returned.
He walked down the beach; and the man who was
ashore gave him an arm on board, and then shoved off
and leaped into the bows himself. Northmour took the
tiller; the boat rose to the waves, and the oars between
the thole-pins sounded crisp and measured in the air.
282
THE PAVILION ON THE LINKS
They were not yet half way to the Red Earl, and I
was still watching their progress, when the sun rose out
of the sea.
One word more, and my story is done. Years after,
Northmour was killed fighting under the colours of Gari-
baldi for the liberation of Tyrol.
383
A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT
A STORY OF FRANCIS VILLON
A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT
IT was late in November, 1456. The snow fell over
Paris with rigorous, relentless persistence; some-
times the wind made a sally and scattered it in flying
vortices; sometimes there was a lull, and flake after
flake descended out of the black night air, silent, cir-
cuitous, interminable. To poor people, looking up
under moist eyebrows, it seemed a wonder where it all
came from. Master Francis Villon had propounded an
alternative that afternoon, at a tavern window : was it
only Pagan Jupiter plucking geese upon Olympus ? or
were the holy angels moulting ? He was only a poor
Master of Arts, he went on ; and as the question some-
what touched upon divinity, he durst not venture to
conclude. A silly old priest from Montargis, who was
among the company, treated the young rascal to a bot-
tle of wine in honour of the jest and grimaces with which
it was accompanied, and swore on his own white beard
that he had been just such another irreverent dog when
he was Villon's age.
The air was raw and pointed, but not far below freez-
ing; and the flakes were large, damp, and adhesive.
The whole city was sheeted up. An army might have
marched from end to end and not a footfall given the
287
NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS
alarm. If there were any belated birds in heaven, they
saw the island like a large white patch, and the bridges
like slim white spars, on the black ground of the river.
High up overhead the snow settled among the tracery
of the cathedral towers. Many a niche was drifted full ;
many a statue wore a long white bonnet on its gro-
tesque or sainted head. The gargoyles had been trans-
formed into great false noses, drooping towards the
point. The crockets were like upright pillows swollen
on one side. In the intervals of the wind, there was a
dull sound of dripping about the precincts of the church.
The cemetery of St. John had taken its own share of
the snow. All the graves were decently covered ; tall
white housetops stood around in grave array; worthy
burghers were long ago in bed, be-nightcapped like
their domiciles ; there was no light in all the neighbour-
hood but a little peep from a lamp that hung swinging
in the church choir, and tossed the shadows to and fro
in time to its oscillations. The clock was hard on ten
when the patrol went by with halberds and a lantern,
beating their hands; and they saw nothing suspicious
about the cemetery of St. John.
Yet there was a small house, backed up against the
cemetery wall, which was still awake, and awake to
evil purpose, in that snoring district. There was not
much to betray it from without; only a stream of warm
vapor from the chimney-top, a patch where the snow
melted on the roof, and a few half-obliterated footprints
at the door. But within, behind the shuttered windows,
Master Francis Villon the poet, and some of the thievish
crew with whom he consorted, were keeping the night
alive and passing round the bottle.
288
A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT
A great pile of living embers diffused a strong and
ruddy glow from the arched chimney. Before this
straddled Dom Nicolas, the Picardy monk, with his
skirts picked up and his fat legs bared to the comfort-
able warmth. His dilated shadow cut the room in half ;
and the firelight only escaped on either side of his broad
person, and in a little pool between his outspread feet.
His face had the beery, bruised appearance of the con-
tinual drinker's; it was covered with a network of
congested veins, purple in ordinary circumstances, but
now pale violet, for even with his back to the fire
the cold pinched him on the other side. His cowl
had half fallen back, and made a strange excrescence
on either side of his bull neck. So he straddled, grum-
bling, and cut the room in half with the shadow of his
portly frame.
On the right, Villon and Guy Tabary were huddled
together over a scrap of parchment; Villon making a
ballade which he was to call the " Ballade of Roast Fish,"
and Tabary spluttering admiration at his shoulder. The
poet was a rag of a man, dark, little, and lean, with hol-
low cheeks and thin black locks. He carried his four-
and-twenty years with feverish animation. Greed had
made folds about his eyes, evil smiles had puckered his
mouth. The wolf and pig struggled together in his face.
It was an eloquent, sharp, ugly, earthly countenance.
His hands were small and prehensile, with fingers knot-
ted like a cord ; and they were continually flickering in
front of him in violent and expressive pantomime. As
for Tabary, a broad, complacent, admiring imbecility
breathed from his squash nose and slobbering lips : he
had become a thief, just as he might have become the
289
NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS
most decent of burgesses, by the imperious chance that
rules the lives of human geese and human donkeys.
At the monk's other hand, Montigny and Thevenin
Pensete played a game of chance. About the first there
clung some flavour of good birth and training, as about
a fallen angel; something long, lithe, and courtly in the
person; something aquiline and darkling in the face.
Thevenin, poor soul, was in great feather: he had done
a good stroke of knavery that afternoon in the Faubourg
St. Jacques, and all night he had been gaining from
Montigny. A flat smile illuminated his face; his bald
head shone rosily in a garland of red curls ; his little pro-
tuberant stomach shook with silent chucklings as he
swept in his gains.
" Doubles or quits ?" said Thevenin.
Montigny nodded grimly.
"Some may prefer to dine in state," wrote Villon,
' ' On bread and cheese on silver plate. Or, or help me
out, Guido!"
Tabary giggled.
" Or parsley on a golden disk," scribbled the poet.
The wind was freshening without; it drove the snow
before it, and sometimes raised its voice in a victorious
whoop, and made sepulchral grumblings in the chim-
ney. The cold was growing sharper as the night went
on. Villon, protruding his lips, imitated the gust with
something between a whistle and a groan. It was an
eerie, uncomfortable talent of the poet's, much detested
by the Picardy monk.
" Can't you hear it rattle in the gibbet ? " said Villon.
"They are all dancing the devil's jig on nothing, up
there. You may dance, my gallants, you'll be none the
290
A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT
warmer! Whew! what a gust! Down went some-
body just now ! A medlar the fewer on the three-legged
medlar-tree! I say, Dom Nicolas, it'll be cold to-night
on the St. Denis Road ? " he asked.
Dom Nicolas winked both his big eyes, and seemed
to choke upon his Adam's apple. Montfaucon, the great
grisly Paris gibbet, stood hard by the St. Denis Road,
and the pleasantry touched him on the raw. As for
Tabary, he laughed immoderately over the medlars; he
had never heard anything more light-hearted; and he
held his sides and crowed. Villon fetched him a fillip
on the nose, which turned his mirth into an attack of
coughing.
"Oh, stop that row," said Villon, "and think of
rhymes to 'fish.' '
" Doubles or quits," said Montigny doggedly.
" With all my heart," quoth Thevenin.
" Is there any more in that bottle ? " asked the monk.
"Open another," said Villon. "How do you ever
hope to fill that big hogshead, your body, with little
things like bottles ? And how do you expect to get to
heaven ? How many angels, do you fancy, can be